


Beware of the Boys

by TheResurrectionist



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfleck - Freeform, Blood and Gore, Clark and Bruce are Ride or Die, Gen, Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Retribution, World's Finest, the town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: “I need your help.” Clark says, crossing his arms. His jaw tightened. “I can’t tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it later, and we’re gonna hurt some people.”There was a long pause as Bruce considered this, looking away from his screen for the first time. The corner of his mouth lifted.“Whose car are we taking?”In which an unsavory character lays hands on Lois Lane, and Clark borrows a line from The Town to recruit his best friend into giving out some much-deserved payback.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone else love "The Town" with Ben Affleck? Well, there's a great line that Jeremy Renner says that always made me laugh, even if it's a little OOC here. Hope you enjoy!

Clark doesn't miss much about Lois.

He's not Bruce, of course-even his reporter skills pale in comparison with the Bat's-but he likes to believe he's fairly observant. He notices patterns, sees when Perry leaves the office a few minutes early on Thursdays (to meet his wife downtown for dinner) or how many sticks of gum Jimmy chews a day.

Simple, everyday things that probably aren't useful, but good to know. Just in case.

Because he sees Lois almost every day, there's little he misses when it comes to the fearless reporter. Her lipstick shade (brighter on days with interviews, like she's psyching herself up to kick ass) or her hairstyle, how late she is (usually ten minutes, can be as long as two hours) or how early.

He can tell when she's occupied with a new boyfriend, because a little wrinkle appears between her eyebrows as she hunches over her phone, lips pursed.

The super senses didn't hurt, either, but he tries not to pay too much attention to them. Smelling sex, sweat, or blood on other people had always seemed like an invasion of privacy to him.

All of his mantras, though, his rules about privacy and _boundaries_ come crashing to a halt when he sees Lois on a Monday. He can only stop and stare, in the middle of the Daily Planet bullpen with a lukewarm cup of coffee in his hand. It's all he can do to not explode, to _break_ something-

She's covered the worst of the bruises with concealer, but when she smiles nervously at him, he can see the slight difference in shade across her wrists and face. There's a cut across her lower lip that she hid with an artful smear of lipstick, a gaudy bright red that makes his stomach turn. He smells blood and looks down despite himself, X-Ray vision confirming what he'd already prayed he wouldn't see.

_No,_ he thinks to himself as Lois smiles and sits down with a slight wince, _no no no no no no no no no-_

"Busy weekend, Lois?" Jimmy calls from across the divider, his smile jarring in the interim. Lois folds her hands, a strange motion for her, and puts on a dazzling smile. The bullpen roars around them, deafening.

"Not really," she says, and Clark _rages_. "Kinda boring. How about you?"

* * *

"I need your help." Clark says, crossing his arms. His jaw tightened. "I can't tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it later, and we're gonna hurt some people."

There was a long pause as Bruce considers his ultimatum, looking away from his screen for the first time. The Batcave was silent around them, Bruce's cowl on the chair beside him. No children. No witnesses. _Good_.

The corner of Bruce's mouth lifts, a glint of bloodlust in his eyes.

"Whose car are we taking?"

* * *

The files from the precinct he'd stolen sit on the seat between them. They'd chosen one of Bruce's understated (though still amazingly expensive) cars, a black Audi that speeds through Metropolis almost as fast as he can.

They're dressed in black. No costumes, no powers. He knows Bruce must have glanced at the file, must have put at least a few pieces together by now, but true to his word, the man says nothing. It curls strangely in his stomach, that he can demand something like this from his best friend and get complete compliance, but he doesn't mention it.

The report Lois had filed (adamantly, according to the lieutenant on duty, with as many descriptions and incriminating details as he would have expected from her) had named two men. Persons of interest for a story she'd been doing on the local crime wave in the industrial sector-

He winces as the anger rises up in him again, curling his fists in rage as Bruce drives silently next to him. The kevlar wrapped around his knuckles creaks, and for a moment his world is red.

Bruce doesn't say what he must be thinking, and for that he's grateful.

_Why don't you let the police handle this one-_

_Hurting them isn't going to change anything-_

_I won't kill-_

_Clark, you're better than this-_

He breathes deep, then opens his eyes. They're stopped a block away, parked discreetly in the shadows of a warehouse.

Bruce is intentionally not looking at him, a metal bat in one hand, brass knuckles across his other. His face is obscured by a black domino mask, and the missing cowl jarrs him for a second.

"Ready?"

Clark breathes in again, then out.

He nods.

* * *

The men are watching TV, some loud, near-pornographic movie thudding through the paper-thin walls. Bruce knocks on the door and covers the peephole with a gloved hand, sliding out of the way and bracing the bat against the doorframe.

When the door cracks just a little, he shoves in before Clark can even blink, slamming into the thug and sending him backwards with a surprised shout.

Bruce beats the first man across his knees with the bat, disguising precise blows as clumsy hits. It doesn't matter-they're wearing masks-but he ducks in anyways, listening to Bruce's heart speed up.

Clark grabs the second man by the throat and throws him against the wall, trying in vain to hold his powers back. A crack of metal on bone almost distracts him, but the man's pleading words draw him back immediately.

"Don't scream," he says as the man chokes around his hand, eyes bugging. He looks just like Lois described, and that _infuriates_ him for some reason. "Don't you fucking scream."

Bruce's thug does just that a second later, cut off by a vicious boot to his ribs before it can get too loud. Clark looks over and sees what looks like more than a few broken bones and ligaments. _Good,_ he thinks savagely, squeezing the man's throat to the point of asphyxiation. _Good_ -

"Is this how you held her?" he murmurs into the man's ear, letting him fall to his feet, kicking his heels apart. He leans in between the man's legs, tugging his head back by the hair. Blood runs between his fingers, but he ignores it. "Did you even _listen_ to her? _Did you?_ "

A savage backhand would have sent the man into the wall, had Clark bothered to release his head. The man moans, the skin at his scalp tearing as his neck goes one direction, and his head the other. Clark hits him again for good measure, suddenly wishing for a pair of brass knuckles like Bruce-

"I don't know what you did," he hears Bruce whisper to the other man on the other side of the room, the kid slumped across the floor with an expression of pain that's hardly human. Bruce twists something and the man _screams_ so loud, Clark's teeth ache. "But you pissed off my friend…" He leans closer, his lips an inch above the man's ear.

"Did you really think you were going to get away with it?"

It's wrong, it's so wrong, but Clark feels the smile spread across his face anyway. _They're afraid of him,_ he thinks. _Afraid of us. They have no clue._

Before he can stop himself, he has Bruce's discarded bat in hand, slamming it into the rapists over and over again, blood splattering the apartment, until they can't scream anymore, until bone peeks through-

"Enough," Bruce says, next to his ear suddenly, a hand wrapping around the bat. " _Enough_ , Clark."

He lets the metal go, fingers numb. The man in front of him is more blood than man, but he's breathing, and that says more than it should. Bruce isn't looking at him still, wiping evidence of their visit from the walls, the blood and spit and sweat left untouched.

The Bat uncurls in Bruce's movements, stalking through the shadows without a sound. He picks up the bat and throws it over his shoulder, eyes scanning the apartment one last time.

With a nod to Clark, they leave quickly and quietly. Back in the car, the silence is pervasive. His heart races, his blood singing in his veins as Bruce dials a number on his phone. He can't stop moving, hands trembling with adrenaline.

"Cops?" He asks when his voice is back, staring at the display in Bruce's hand, "You're calling the cops?"

"2718 Felder Avenue. Send an ambulance," Bruce murmurs into the phone. He disconnects the call as the woman on the other end asks for his name, starting the car. "That it?"

"You called those _bastards_ an _ambulance_?" Clark asks, that familiar fury rising from his bones again. "After what they did-"

"An ambulance is nothing," Bruce cuts him off. He accelerates between the nighttime traffic, a silent presence weaving between cars. "Those men probably won't ever walk again. Yours might not ever be able to talk."

_Yours might not talk._ He'd smashed the bat in between his teeth, across his face until it was a pulpy mess, thinking of the blood Lois was-

" _Christ,_ " he says, putting his head in his hands. He wants to scream. He wants to hit something. He wants to bind his hands to his chest so he can never use them again. Wants to feel the crunch of bone under his knuckles again- "Jesus _Christ_."

He can't believe what he's done, the blood on his hands, but the worst part about his guilt is how it's tempered by the man next to him. Bruce doesn't say as much, never has, but he'd enjoyed it too. Clark can tell, somehow.

He'd _understood_ ; for a fleeting moment, they'd coexisted in the pursuit of a common goal, like they always had. They'd moved together seamlessly, a macabre dance built upon years and years of friendship and teamwork.

Bruce is a silent presence to his left, keeping a careful eye out for tails. They make it back to Gotham in less than an hour, riding in near-silence.

"I'm sorry," is all Bruce says as they step into the cave, trailing blood across the stone floor. He looks up at Clark, his eyes _knowing,_ so achingly familiar that it stings. "Do you-"

He raises a hand, but drops it as Clark steps away. Bruce nods, as if confirming something, and walks towards the computers.

Clark stands at the mouth of the cave for a minute more, then takes off into the night.

* * *

Clark makes sure to watch Lois' expression as she reads about the unsolved burglary on Felder avenue the next morning. She frowns slowly, working through the story. Her lips purse. Relief spreads across her face, barely perceptible to the human eye-the loosening of her posture, the sigh she lets escape a moment later. How the skin around her eyes relaxes, and it's not perfect, but by God, he'll take it.

He tries to mention all of this to Bruce a few days later, grabbing him by the elbow after a Founder's meeting. He wants him to _understand,_ to know that this-this _thing_ of theirs' wasn't in vain-not by any means.

He says as much, rattling off their sins in a stumbling voice. Bruce watches him carefully, the blue of his eyes burning into him. When he's done, the silence is deafening.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Bruce says. "Let go of my arm."

The Bat walks away, leaving him stunned.

" _I need your help." he'd said. "I can't tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it later, and we're gonna hurt some people."_

Bruce hadn't even blinked. Bruce hadn't hesitated. He'd taken Clark's demands and nodded. Taken his burdens without a word of protest, with unconditional loyalty.

" _Whose car are we taking?"_

He watched his friend's form disappear down the hallway, a longing in his heart. His phone buzzes in his pocket, surprising him.

"Hey Lois," he says, straining to reach his usual jovial tone. "No, I'm not busy. What's up?"

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Leave me a comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
